Burnt Out
by oclark1226
Summary: Set anytime after the breakout in the Spider-Man PS4 Game. Spider-Man stretches himself thin and pays the price for it. Thankfully, his trusty partner is there to help him get back together, with the help of some other allies. Peter/MJ Centric. Can be seen as friendship or romance.
1. Chapter 1

Burnt Out

New York City had become something out of an apocalyptic movie. The longer he looked out onto the city, _his _city, the more fires he saw, the more screams he heard, and the more he felt his heart drop into his stomach. This was never supposed to happen. This city was under his protection. What good was a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if he couldn't stop the city from falling apart like this? He rubbed his eyes through his mask. This wasn't a time for pity parties. He needed to go out and do something about it. If that meant sacrificing his body and his well-being for it, then that was how it was gonna be.

He started in Harlem, picking fights with every group of escapees, Demons, Sable agents, and any thugs he saw or heard. He had turned his radios down to near silence due to the constant chatter. It just reminded him of all the battles he couldn't fight and people he just couldn't save. He had to hope that the police force could handle some things by themselves. Every fight gave him a new injury or two, but no one was able to stop the amazing Spider-Man on this night. He had a mission.

"Mary Jane Watson live on the streets of Harlem. New York City is overrun with criminals of all kinds. Prison inmates, Demons, gang members, and supervillains. Stay in your homes or take shelter however possible. Do _not _go anywhere on your own tonight. The streets are not safe. We will update you as the night goes on and if the situation changes. Be safe, citizens."

The cameraman gave her a nod and the young woman let herself relax, handing the microphone to one of the crew members. Turning around, MJ let herself take in the scene that she was standing in front of. The only cars on the street were ones that were abandoned or had been broken into. There were three fires on the horizon that she could see from her position on the ground, as well as one just down the street on ground level. It looked like it had been burning a while and was on its way out. There were sirens on top of sirens, their melodies overlapping one another's. The sky was black and orange with smoke and the glow of fires. For a moment, she thought she saw something moving along the rooftops.

"Shit. Of course, he's-I need to go," MJ was mostly talking to herself, but one of the crew members heard her desperate tone of voice and turned towards her.

"Hey, we just got a call to head back. Boss wants us to go home if we can, be with our families and all. Do you want a ride back, or do you have somewhere else you need to be?" Fred, one of the sound guys, held out a set of keys to MJ. "How do you feel about motorcycles?"

As he made his way around Manhattan, the sirens slowly got less deafening and the fires became fewer and farther between. At the same time, Spider-Man was getting sloppier and less coordinated. Fatigue was weighing his body down. His injuries were multiplying faster and faster with each fight. Enemies were taking advantage of his brief lapses in concentration and his body was paying the price for it.

Gasping for breath, he managed to swing up to a fire escape with one arm, collapsing against the railing. Those Demons must've been scavenging all kinds of weaponry from smaller gangs. He definitely hadn't been ready for that. Wincing, he pulled his hand away from the deep laceration across his other arm. It was still bleeding, but slowly. Sucking in a breath, he webbed it up as much as he could, trying to fight the pain. So many of them had wielded swords or knives. A few had guns. The rest had been armed with crowbars, baseball bats, or whatever else they could find. Usually, one group of them didn't have so many deadly weapons. Some of them would even be unarmed. Not this time. Tonight was getting more and more unpredictable.

Someone screamed in the alley below him and he brought himself back into focus. Perching on the railing, he saw a woman bravely brandishing pepper spray against several prison inmates. With a grimace, he convinced his legs to launch from that position and he landed clumsily on the ground below. His left ankle completely gave way and he rolled onto the ground, hissing in pain. He'd done a number on it a few blocks ago, but there was nothing he could do about it for the time being. As he caught his breath on his hands and knees, his brain screamed at him to _MOVE! _

Rolling to his right, an electrified whip cracked on the ground next to him. He looked up, seeing the inmates approaching him. The woman was nowhere to be found, hopefully indicating that she had gotten away while he made his entrance. He webbed over to the opposite wall, pushing off it to kick one guy to the ground. From there, he leapt into the air, coming down with a fist into someone's skull. Turning, he dealt several painful blows to the next target. There was a split second as he turned around that he thought he sensed something coming towards him, but he couldn't move in time.

Screaming, Spider-Man collapsed onto the ground as the whip struck his back, sending waves of electricity through his body. He didn't get back up. He didn't even seem to be conscious. The inmates went in for the kill, until a loud sound from the shadows behind them caught their attention. Headlights suddenly beamed out at them, momentarily blinding them, as a motorcycle engine growled and roared. The only two remaining inmates decided not to take their chances and ran around the corner, choosing to fight another day.

The headlights dimmed and the motorcycle slowly approached Spider-Man's body. The figure atop it stumbled off the bike, barely keeping it standing, as she rushed toward the superhero. "No, no, no, no, no. This was never supposed to happen. Pete, can you hear me? Peter Parker, I will kill you for this. Don't you do this to me, Pete! Pete please, talk to me. Oh my God, Pete, don't _do _this to me!" MJ was holding back sobs as she called for him to do something. His suit was covered in blood and she noticed that parts of his body looked like they were out of place. He was barely breathing and his pulse was weak, but he was alive.

"Alright Pete, you're gonna have to work with me here," MJ muttered to his unconscious figure as she tried to lift him up. She wasn't sure if it was his incredible blood loss or her adrenaline levels, but she managed to drag him over to the bike and get him leaning against her chest on the seat. Once she felt confident enough with his placement, off they went.

Some good Samaritans in her apartment building had helped her carry Spider-Man up to her apartment. All it took was a rushed explanation that she had found him in the alley and that she knew a nurse who was coming to help. Once he was on her couch, it was time to get to work. She was suddenly thankful that Pete had never remembered to take his medical shit out of her apartment after they broke up. That forgetfulness had finally done something good for him. She threw on some latex gloves she had added to the med kit so long ago. This wasn't her first time patching Peter up, but this was certainly the worst she'd ever seen him, and she had never felt so unprepared for this.

She started by taking off his mask and peeling away the parts of his suit that she could with him laying on his back. Holding back a sob, she noted that it wasn't difficult to pull apart because of how torn up the suit was, especially around his torso. From there, she tried to determine where his injuries were and how severe they were. There was so much dried blood on his skin, she had to clean as she went to figure out where the real problems were. Suddenly, she remembered the way she'd seen him when she found him in the alley. His back had been torn up worse than she'd ever seen it, but the wound had seemed cauterized already. Holding back a wave of panic, she reminded herself out loud, "The bleeding stopped. It's not bleeding anymore, so it's not a priority. I need to figure out what's still bleeding and stop that, then deal with everything else. Just breathe; you can do this. You've got this, MJ."

Taking a deep breath, she started with his head. His hair was matted with his blood, so she did her best to peel it apart. There was an open gash, the surrounding skin already discolored with bruising. It was bleeding still, but slowly, so she placed some gauze on it and taped it down quickly. His nose looked broken but wasn't actively bleeding. His lips were swollen and bloody. "Okay, nothing life-threatening here. Let's see what else you got, Tiger." MJ looked over his chest and found a large burn of sorts near his collarbone and made a mental note to hydrate him as soon as possible. Then her breathing stopped.

There was a deep stab wound near his right hip that was sluggishly but consistently bleeding and looked like it had been for some time. Biting her lip, she got to work cleaning the surrounding area. She put more bandages around that injury than the first, holding back tears. Then she moved on to his left arm, seeing there was a considerable amount of blood concentrated there. Washing it away quickly, she thanked God that Pete was out cold because she couldn't imagine how painful her "care" probably was. The second she saw how large the wound really was, the tears started flowing freely. Holding back sobs, she began the difficult process of sewing up the injury. It wasn't pretty, but it was going to stop the blood flow and that's all she was worried about.

Once that was done, MJ stood up shakily. Even though his breathing still seemed too fast and strained, he was stable for right now and he needed to stay that way because she needed a break. She went to her kitchen, bringing a bottle of painkillers and two glasses of water back with her. Alternating between taking slow sips of her water and cleaning up Peter, she began to calm down again. Looking over him again, she patched up the smaller cuts and bruises as well as she could. She nearly threw up when she saw the angle his ankle had been at the whole time, quickly realizing it was very broken. Getting a small pillow, she propped it up as gently as she could, trying to set it at an angle it would be more comfortable at, then wrapped it tightly.

His knees were torn to shreds, so she did her best to clean them up and cover them, but those weren't going to heal nicely. She started cleaning up the remains of his suit, throwing the mask and all the shredded pieces into a garbage bag. Her couch probably wouldn't survive this one, but that was okay. Small price to pay to keep a friend alive. She went to her bedroom and dug out some spare clothes Peter had left ages ago. She couldn't resist the urge to find out if they still smelled like him and found herself blushing. They did.

Heading back to Peter, she set the clothes on a chair nearby and sat on the floor in front of him. As she picked up her cotton balls and medical supplies, Peter began to stir. Groaning, his eyes fluttered open. He suddenly gasped in pain and MJ jumped up, eyes wide with concern. She laid her hands on his forehead and cheek, gently shushing him. "Hey hey, you're okay, you're with me, MJ, alright? Relax, don't move, just relax, Pete. Everything's gonna be okay, just stay right there and relax."

He looked into her eyes, vision blurring. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, but she brushed it out of the way as she tried to get an idea of how bad he was feeling. His breathing was ragged and shallow still, eyelids fluttering. Despite that, he reached out and grabbed MJ's wrist with surprising strength. Coherent for just a moment, a raspy "thank you" was all Peter managed to say before passing out again. His hand dropped, hanging off the couch.

MJ collapsed back onto the floor. "Goddammit, Pete. You're gonna owe me big time for this one," she said, wiping fresh tears from her eyes. She gently held his dangling hand, bringing it to her lips. "I don't think I can do anything else for you, Tiger. This is on you now. I know you're strong; I know you can pull through this. This city needs you. Fuck that, _I _need you. I need you, Peter Parker. Please don't leave me alone here," she whispered. She kissed the back of his hand, then put it by his side on the couch. She moved one of her chairs closer to the couch, then got as comfortable as she could on it and fell asleep.

Around 2 am, MJ woke up and stretched, rubbing her eyes. Looking over at Peter, she felt her stomach drop. He looked worse than she'd ever seen him. In just bandages and his boxers, his skin looked pale and sickly. She stood up slowly and got on her knees by the couch. Laying her head gently on his arm, she reached for his hand. As she let his hand rest on the couch cushion, his breathing got shallower.

"Pete?" She reached for his shoulder. "Peter, stay with me."

With a gasp, Peter suddenly shot upright, pushing MJ away with superhuman strength and looking around in panic. Almost immediately, he fell back down to the couch from the sheer amount of pain he felt. Hissing his breath through his teeth, his hands searched for something to squeeze. MJ got up from the floor, rubbing her back where it had hit the ground, and grabbed one of Peter's hands. Wincing with him, she reached up with her other hand to touch his face. She felt his muscles relax a fraction and let herself breathe again.

"Hey Pete. You're here, with me. You're gonna be okay. But right now, I need you to focus on your breathing, okay? You nearly got yourself killed and I'm not about to lose you to a damn panic attack. You need to calm down so you don't hurt yourself anymore," MJ whispered. His breathing was ragged still. His physical injuries were affecting his mind and MJ didn't know how to stop that. Peter's breathing sounded more and more choked until he started coughing. Hard.

Pushing his back up and sitting behind him on the couch, MJ kept her hands on his chest, feeling him inhale and exhale too harshly and quickly. She started rubbing his back and talking to him, telling him to breathe and calm down over and over until the dry coughing subsided to a weak wheeze. By then, Peter had shifted most of his weight to leaning on MJ, far too exhausted to hold himself up while catching his breath. MJ rested a hand on his cheek and he instantly leaned into it. She felt a wetness on his face and realized that he had been crying.

"Peter, what hurts the worst right now?" MJ asked while moving him back down onto the couch in his original position. At the shaking of his head, she asked, "Do you want back up?" He nodded, so she helped him move to a sitting position, leaning him against the back of the couch and sitting next to him. "So, what's the worst? This is so not the time to hold anything back from me, Parker, so you better be real fuckin' honest for the next few hours."

Peter chuckled as lightly as he could. He mimed drinking a glass and MJ grabbed the water she'd retrieved earlier. After he downed it, he was able to whisper, "Think I broke some ribs. Shoulder might be dislocated. Ankle's definitely broken." That alone seemed to drain his energy, as he let his eyelids fall shut and he leaned into the couch harder than before. He squeezed MJ's hand to let her know he was still awake. She could still hear the wheezing in his slow, cautious breaths. "Pete, you need a doctor. And medication. And a fucking hospital. I can't take care of you. You need more than me." MJ started tearing up. She knew he'd reject the idea, but she didn't know what else to do. She couldn't do this on her own.

"Dr. Michaels," Peter breathed. "His number. My phone." His cough started up again and he doubled over in pain. MJ was there until it subsided again, the wheezing worse now than it was before. "Okay, I'll call him. But if he wants you going to a hospital, you're gonna go to a hospital." Peter rolled his eyes at her as she got his phone and called the doctor. In minutes, Dr. Michaels was making calls to some of his trusted colleagues and collecting plenty of medical supplies on the way.

In the meantime, MJ tried to keep herself and Peter stable. She still hadn't looked at his back because she hadn't wanted to move him before he woke up and now wasn't the best time because she was hardly keeping herself together. She went into her kitchen for a few minutes to let her tears flow and her thoughts be free. After she let her anxieties go, she was able to get back into focus. With a few deep breaths, she headed back to Peter.

MJ mentally ran over things she'd taken care of and what still needed attention. She guessed his lungs were either damaged or simply overworked by how much breathing seemed to strain him, so that was beyond her help. Thankfully, he'd helped her set some of his broken bones into positions where they could start healing. There wasn't much they could do for his broken ribs except try to keep him from moving more than necessary. All of his surface wounds were covered in bandages except the one on his back. He was still only in his underwear, since Dr. Michaels would need to see all his injuries at some point or another.

"Pete, I'm gonna need to look at your back. You took a bad hit there and it isn't bleeding, but I should clean it and give it a look before Dr. Michaels gets here." MJ sat on the couch next to Peter, who was leaning back into the couch with his eyes closed. He nodded and shifted onto his stomach on the couch as gently as he could with MJ's help. She started cleaning the blood and burnt skin as gently as she could but could hear every time Peter held his breath or hissed in pain. Eventually, it was done with and she put some gauze on the most raw, sensitive parts.

MJ went to the bathroom for a few minutes to clean up and look for any more supplies the doctor might need and Peter moved himself slowly into a sitting position. He grabbed the wrist of his dislocated shoulder, holding his arm out straight in front of him. Clenching his teeth together, he moved his shoulder back into place and cradled it by his stomach with his other arm, trying not to cry out. Tears leaked out of his eyes and he reached for one of the shirts MJ had grabbed. Wrapping it around his shoulder, he made a sling with his good hand, collapsing back into the couch afterwards. MJ came back moments later with towels, water, and washcloths.

"Peter, what did you do?" MJ set her things down quickly, seeing Peter's grimace and obvious exhaustion.

"Fixed. Shoulder," he muttered between breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was still holding his arm, but his shoulder looked a lot better.

"Dammit, Pete. You're not supposed to move around. You're gonna make yourself worse." MJ was too tired to really fight him on this one, so she just sat next to him with a frustrated sigh. He leaned towards her and she relaxed a little. _He's been through this before, MJ. He knows how to take care of himself. And Dr. Michaels is on the way. He'll be fine in no time. _And with that thought in mind, she let her eyes drift shut and they both fell asleep again.

Dr. Michaels and his team arrived early the next morning. After they assessed Peter, all while he had his mask on and hardly said a word, they properly set some of his broken bones, stitched up some of the worst wounds, and provided some stronger painkillers. They'd even brought blood in to do a transfusion. As they were cleaning up, Peter started coughing again; the same harsh sound as before.

Dr. Michaels frowned, seemingly listening to the cough intently. MJ noticed his new focus and quickly made her way to the kitchen to drop off the various tools that needed washed and sterilized. Coming back with a glass of water, MJ gave the doc a questioning look. Dr. Michaels had one of his hands on Peter's chest and the other on his back as he continued coughing. "That's not a productive cough."

"What does that mean?" MJ asked. She continued cleaning up around her apartment but kept glancing back at the doctor and Peter with concern written all over her face.

Dr. Michaels helped Peter lie back down on the couch once his coughing had ended and started looking through one of his bags. "It means there's nothing physically in his lungs that's causing irritation. He's not sick and his lungs are in good shape, all things considered, so I believe the cause is mental. It happens to people before, during, or after stressful events. Sometimes it's related to panic attacks because of how the nervous system affects the lungs and bronchioles," he explained, pulling out yet another container of pills. Looking at Peter, who was trying to catch his breath once again without starting another fit, he asked, "Is this the first time you've experienced this?"

Peter shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing more than a wheeze came out. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and it became clear that he was fighting to stay awake. Dr. Michaels saw this and nodded to MJ, handing her the bottle. She got down to Peter's level and told him to get some rest in a caring whisper as the doctor softly explained, "It's Xanax. If he's still having fits like this when he wakes back up, have him take it. I don't know how much it'll do for him, but I can tell he's not the type to rest easy. This will help him stay a little calmer while he heals."

MJ whispered back, "Thank you so much. I don't know if he would've made it without you and your team. I've never seen him like this." Tears pricked her eyes and she pushed them back. "This city needs Spider-Man. And sometimes, he needs us," she smiled sadly.

The doctor nodded, "My team and I will be on call if you need us. We're running all over as it is, trying to fight the sickness and help the injured, but Spider-Man is a priority. Without him, we don't stand a damn chance."

Around mid-morning, the doctor and his team had cleaned up and left MJ alone with Peter once again. She tried to keep herself busy while he slept to keep from worrying any more than she already was. She knew not to turn on the news or even let him near the TV remote because she knew it would make her worse and make him want to get back out there. Unfortunately, New York would have to cope without their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man for a few days, maybe a week. This wasn't something he could just walk off.

When he finally woke up, it was nearly noon. MJ was looking through movies on Netflix and sipping hot chocolate. Looking over at him, she smiled. "Welcome back, Tiger. You really need to work on sleeping for more than a chunk of hours at a time. No offense, but you could use some beauty sleep." Peter rolled his eyes at her with a crooked smile. "Thanks," he croaked dryly.

"Damn, those thugs take your voice along with your dignity?" MJ grinned as she got up to give Peter his glass of water. He playfully swatted at her but sat up slowly and gratefully accepted the cup. "Still have dignity," he muttered as he wiped his mouth with his arm. As he put the glass down, he suddenly shivered. Noticing this, MJ grabbed the pile of clothes she'd gotten out hours ago.

"I think it's time for you to try to get dressed. You think you're good to try that?" She came back to the couch and sat next to him with his sweatpants and t-shirt on her lap. Peter's face started to redden.

"I, uh… I don't think I can do that with one arm… and my ankle's kind of in the way too," he trailed off, looking down at the floor.

MJ put a hand on his arm and he looked back at her. "Pete, that's why I'm here. We'll tackle this together. I'm not going anywhere." She smiled at him with as much confidence as she had, and he smiled back. "Alright, I guess it's go time then," he said.

To say the least, it was an awkward experience for the both of them. Peter was only able to get the sweatpants so far up his legs while sitting so MJ helped him stand, which drained his energy considerably. Getting a shirt on was easier, but much slower. Moving much faster would jostle his broken bones and torn skin enough to send him back to how he felt before Dr. Michaels' painkillers.

After they got his shirt on, Peter laid back down and another coughing fit hit him. Even though this one seemed less painful than the ones before, MJ did everything she could to help him. Rubbing his back, providing water when he had the breath, and keeping him upright when he lost the strength to. He coughed hard enough to gag a couple times so MJ ran and got a trash can just in time for Peter to reject the contents of his stomach. Not much came up, most likely because of his insanely fast metabolism, but he kept dry heaving long after he'd run empty.

Eventually, the dry heaving faded into burps mixed with wheezing and MJ laid him back down to get the Xanax. She started a random movie and got several crackers in his system before he fell asleep, his head resting in her lap as she rubbed his back and kept his hair out of his face. She watched the movie half-heartedly, mostly paying attention to Peter's breathing and occasional twitches as he slept.

For less than 24 hours after she'd dragged him back to her apartment, she was astonished at how much he'd healed. His color had started to come back, all of his limbs worked now, and it appeared that all his wounds had finally stopped bleeding for good. His voice and his mental state, however, were a different story. MJ knew that he would try to be stubborn and fight off her attempts to help him recover from this. He didn't want to be a burden, but he also needed to let other people help him sometimes. After the city was relatively put back together, the two of them were gonna have a lot of work to do for each other. MJ had a feeling he wouldn't be too upset about spending some more time around her. She knew she wasn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Burnt Out Epilogue

The next day, Peter only woke up long enough to eat and drink some, go to the bathroom, and have short conversations with MJ. He slept almost all day while MJ worked on cleaning and organizing her apartment. It hadn't been in great shape before the city went to hell, but now it was infinitely worse. There were blood stains she had to try to get out of the carpet, pieces of Peter's suit she kept finding, and all the new medical supplies she'd gotten left around her living room and kitchen. She checked on Peter at least once an hour, sometimes sitting with him as he went back to sleep after exerting what little energy he had. His healing abilities were doing incredible things for his body, but it took so much out of him.

On the third morning after the attack, Peter woke up to the sight of MJ asleep on her mattress, which she had brought out to stay close to him at night. She looked so relaxed, thankfully getting enough rest to keep up with everything she'd been doing to take care of him. Peter frowned, thinking about just how much of a burden he was to her the past few days. He hadn't been able to do anything on his own, not even walk more than a few feet at a time. Maybe he could try to make her breakfast this morning.

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the couch with his good arm, managing to reach a sitting position. He took a moment to plan his next movement, realizing just how tired he was already.

_Come on, Parker. Make yourself useful. You can fight bad guys but you can't make breakfast? _

He stood slowly, using the couch to keep his balance and support some of his weight. Holding onto anything he trusted to hold him up, he made his way to MJ's kitchen. His ribs protested the amount of movement they were being put through, but he pushed that to the back of his mind. He kept most of his weight on his right leg as he gathered what he needed. Having only one arm to work with meant he had to make more trips back and forth across the room, but it was doable. Once he'd put the bread in the toaster and the eggs were cooking on the stove, he took a moment to lean against the counter and catch his breath. He was so frustrated by his inability to just _make breakfast._

When Peter realized it wasn't getting any easier to breathe, his mind started running through all kinds of what-if scenarios. Any injuries they might not have found, internal bleeding, heart attack. None of them really made sense, but he certainly knew that something was wrong, and he needed to get MJ's attention before he passed out and burned her apartment building down. Before he could do anything, the now familiar feeling of his airways closing up began to creep in. Looking around, he saw a pan sitting in MJ's sink that looked like it could handle a fall.

He limped towards it as his vision started to get spotty. He could hear the wheeze in his breathing now, which wasn't a good sign. He managed to grab the handle and throw the pan from the sink to the floor, sinking down to the floor in exhaustion. He couldn't breathe, only wheeze and cough against the nothing blocking his airways. Dimly, he heard a voice call his name as he finally gave in to the darkness.

MJ was startled awake by a loud bang somewhere in her apartment. Looking around, the first thing she noticed was that Peter wasn't on the couch anymore. The second thing was the smell of something starting to burn in her kitchen. She jumped to her feet, rushing to her kitchen to find Peter on the ground unconscious and a pan on the ground nearby.

"Fucking hell, Parker," MJ muttered as she quickly checked his vitals. She relaxed for a moment, feeling his pulse, a little overexcited but strong. Standing, she turned off the stove, wincing at the remains in the pan. That would be dealt with later. First, she had to deal with Peter. Gently patting his face, MJ called his name a few times. "Peeetteeerrrr, come on Parker. I don't have all day for this y'know."

Peter stirred, eyes scrunching open to see MJ's face. Relief was quickly followed by embarrassment as now he would have to explain how he ended up on the floor in her kitchen. As he opened his mouth, MJ beat him to the punch.

"Panic attack?"

Peter nodded, furrowing his eyebrows. "How'd you know?" He asked as she helped him up.

MJ turned away, not meeting his eyes as they slowly made their way out of the kitchen. "You haven't been the most peaceful sleeper lately. I know you think you need to get back to the city, but it can wait. Nothing absolutely catastrophic has happened while you've been out. If you don't heal properly, the city might not have a Spider-Man around to save the day anymore."

Peter sighed. He knew she was right, but he couldn't help feeling the weight of responsibility fall onto his shoulders every waking moment. Every second spent healing was a second someone could be dying. It plagued him with guilt even without the city falling apart. Even thinking about all the things that could be going on without his involvement started to make his head spin and his stomach turn, so he decided to change the subject.

"I wanted to make you breakfast. Didn't, uh, go so well." He finally sat back down on the couch as MJ looked him over for new injuries. MJ laughed softly, looking up at him. "Pete, I appreciate the thought, but that's not really something you need to be worried about right now."

"Well, what _do _I need to be worried about?" Peter shot back. MJ looked surprised, then hurt. "I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't mean-"

"No, MJ, God, I'm sorry. I'm just so fucking frustrated. I can't be Spider-Man, so I thought I could at least be a decent Peter Parker, but I can't even handle that yet. It's never been this bad before; never taken this long," he trailed off with a sigh. "I feel so _useless_ right now," he added quietly, staring at the floor.

MJ sat down next to Peter, putting an arm around him. Momentarily confused, Peter froze.

"Pete, relax. Seriously, the one thing you need right now is to relax. Your body isn't gonna heal if you keep stressing yourself out like this. You can only stretch yourself so thin before something breaks, and it's gonna take some time to get everything back together. Today, we see how long you can handle being awake. Tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, you put on the suit and practice some basics. After that, I think this baby bird can leave the nest." MJ pretended to wipe away tears with her last line, making Peter chuckle.

"Okay. Okay, Peter Parker can handle that. Slow and steady," he said to himself.

"Also, you've _got _to stop talking about yourself in the third person," MJ laughed, giving him a playful, but still gentle shove. Peter laughed with her and found himself feeling a little bit lighter. Recovery wasn't going to be easy, but he wasn't going to have to go through it alone.


End file.
